April 2nd, 1989, Sunday.
The second day after the consumption tax implementation, and the first weekend.
The sky remained overcast, with grey clouds hanging low over Tokyo Bay, as if threatening to crush the city that had just experienced a night of chaos.
5 a.m., Tokyo Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market, Ota Market.
This should have been the busiest place in all of Japan, the heart sustaining the appetites of Tokyo's ten million people. At this hour, the roar of forklifts, the shouts of vendors, and the beeping of reversing trucks would usually converge into a chaotic symphony.
But today, a strange sense of anxiety hung in the air.
"What kind of joke is this! Freight costs are going up 3%? Didn't we agree to keep the original price just yesterday?" the head of the Daiei Group's fresh produce procurement department, clutching a still-warm mobile phone tightly, roared into the receiver. His tie was crooked, and his eyes were bloodshot from staying up all night.
"Where's my shipment? The onions from Hokkaido, and the leafy vegetables from Ibaraki! The shelves are empty!"
The helpless voice of the logistics company manager came from the other end of the line, mixed with the background noise of arguing drivers.
"Sir, there's nothing we can do. Those independent truckers are all protesting. Gas prices have gone up, highway tolls have increased. If we don't compensate them for this 3% tax, they're shutting down their engines and refusing to work. The parking lot is full of stalled trucks right now."
"Fine! I'll pay! Tell them to start driving immediately!" the manager shouted, his voice hoarse.
"Even if you pay, they won't make it today," the logistics manager replied.
"Why?"
"The invoicing system. To calculate this new tax, all the shipping documents have to be rewritten by hand. And just look outside," the manager paused, then hurried to the dispatch office window. "The entrance to the Metropolitan Expressway is clogged into a long red snake."
Outside the window, the entrance to the Metropolitan Expressway was clogged into a long red snake.
Countless trucks belonging to different logistics companies were jammed together, unable to move an inch. Being the first weekend after the tax reform, all commercial facilities were frantically restocking. Combined with random spot checks at temporary tax inspection stations, Tokyo's already fragile logistics artery had instantly become obstructed.
It was a physical blood clot.
The manager's arm dropped limply, the mobile phone clattering onto the desk.
"It's over."
To avoid financial accounting risks across the tax period change, Daiei had conducted a complete clearance sale on March 31st. Now, the store warehouses had nothing in them except rats.
He had been counting on this morning's emergency restocking to fill the shelves.
But now, he could only watch helplessly as the fresh vegetables sat stranded on the highway dozens of kilometers away, slowly spoiling.
"Damn that 3%..." he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, only to find it empty. He crumpled the pack violently and hurled it at the glass window.
Outside the window, on the grey overpass, a convoy of white vehicles sped past unimpeded on what seemed like a reverse-flow lane.
It was the S.A. Logistics convoy.
A uniform fleet of Isuzu refrigerated trucks, snow-white and spotless, with black S.A. lettering on the sides. They weren't stuck in the paralyzed public logistics channel. Instead, they traveled on dedicated lanes for which they had long applied for special permits, or skillfully navigated pre-planned routes to avoid congestion.
The manager stared blankly at the white stream of vehicles.
Saionji again. He suddenly realized this was no longer just a price war.
The opponent's advantages across various domains were slowly beginning to manifest. They were horrified to discover that the opponent seemed to have just played their first card, and they were already on the verge of collapse.
As for how many cards the opponent still had left to play, who knew?
10 a.m.
Chiba Prefecture, S.A. Logistics Distribution Center.
Beneath the massive steel dome, the orderly logistics operations stood in stark contrast to the hysterical chaos outside.
"Zone C, Gate 12, Hokkaido potatoes, loading complete."
"Zone D, Gate 5, Uniqlo Spring New Arrivals, loading complete."
The dispatcher's calm voice came over the loudspeaker.
If it were half a year ago, the vehicle fleet here would have been mere transportation tools, no different from other logistics companies — perhaps just newer trucks and more drivers at best.
But now, this system had evolved into a closed monster.
This was the private circulatory system the Saionji Family had spent hundreds of billions of yen constructing over the past two years.
Unlike the traditional model of Daiei and Seibu Department Store, which relied on third-party logistics, required multiple layers of subcontracting, and had to calculate taxes at every handover, every single link in S.A. Logistics — from the farms in Hokkaido, to the textile factories in Shanghai, to the stores in Tokyo — was handled internally.
No middlemen.
No cumbersome invoice handovers.
No disputes over the 3% tax.
The drivers were salaried regular employees, the fuel came from reserves in their own oil depots, the vehicles were owned assets. For them, today was no different from yesterday.
There was only execution.
"Open all gates," Shimomura Tsutomu chewed his gum and pressed the enter key in the control tower.
On the screen, the red bar graph representing inventory levels was plummeting rapidly.
The energy accumulated throughout the entire winter was being unleashed at this moment.
One million two hundred thousand pieces of various Uniqlo clothing items.
Thousands of tons of agricultural products from S-Farm in Hokkaido.
They had been lying dormant in this massive white warehouse, waiting for this moment.
Rumble—
Dozens of roller shutters rose simultaneously.
The engines of the white convoy, already ready and waiting, roared to life, their exhaust fumes condensing into white mist in the cold air.
Like a white army, they surged out of the gates, charging towards a Tokyo plunged into panic by shortages.
This was a saturation attack.
While their competitors' shelves were empty, the Saionji Family was going to flood every corner of Tokyo with this white deluge.
Noon.
Nerima Ward, S-Mart Hikarigaoka Store.
Although it was the second day of opening, the crowds in the store were even more overwhelming than yesterday.
Unlike yesterday's curiosity-driven shoppers seeking tax-free goods, today's customers wore looks of panic on their faces — because they had discovered the shelves of other supermarkets were empty.
"I heard Daiei has no vegetables in stock?"
"Yeah, I just went to look. There were only a few packs of wilted bean sprouts on the shelves, and the price had gone up."
"Quick, grab more onions! The onions here are still 50 yen!"
Housewives pushed their shopping carts as if engaged in a war.
But amidst this tense atmosphere, a completely different scene unfolded on the flank of the sales floor.
It was separated by a huge glass wall, as if it were another world.
S-Cafe.
The noisy chatter from the sales floor gradually faded away, and the earthy smell from the fresh produce section was masked. Here, the air was filled with the roasted aroma of dark coffee beans being ground, mingled with the sweet scents of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, vanilla cream, and expensive butter.
The minimalist white palette of the sales floor became warmer and more refined here. Dark hardwood floors, retro leather sofas, warm yellow pendant lamps hanging over the tables. A few pop-art style decorative paintings hung on the walls, and a vinyl record player in the corner was playing Bill Evans' jazz piano.
Naomi and Aiko were currently sitting in a sunken sofa by the window.
"Aiko, look! This Mont Blanc cake has gold leaf sprinkled on the chestnut cream!" Naomi, holding a small silver fork, pointed at the exquisite, art-like French chestnut cake on the plate before her, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Really! And look at my Strawberry Mille-Feuille... see this cross-section, the layers of cream and pastry are so distinct," Aiko leaned in, her nose almost touching the cake. She took a deep breath, a look of bliss appearing on her face. "This cream smells so good..."
"Always so clumsy." Naomi looked at the bit of white on Aiko's nose, chuckled softly, reached out to wipe the cream off, and licked her finger clean.
Aiko tilted her head, seemingly puzzled as to why she didn't just wipe it off normally — it wasn't like the cake was expensive — then turned and picked up the small receipt on the table.
French Mont Blanc: 500 Yen
Strawberry Mille-Feuille: 450 Yen
S-Cafe Freshly Ground Latte: 300 Yen
"It all adds up to just over a thousand yen..." Aiko rested her chin on her hand, her expression one of disbelief. "A cake of this quality, if it were in a Daikanyama patisserie, would cost at least eight hundred yen for one slice! And that's before tax."
"Exactly! And here, we don't have to calculate that annoying consumption tax at all. Hand over a thousand-yen bill, and the change is all shiny coins. It feels like we're getting a bargain," Naomi scooped a bite of cake into her mouth. The velvety texture made her squint her eyes with pleasure. "Having afternoon tea here makes me feel like a nobleman's daughter playing hooky."
"Shh — keep your voice down. It wouldn't be good if someone we know saw us."
The two girls exchanged a smile, enjoying their cheap yet luxurious secret time in this corner filled with jazz music and the aroma of coffee.
S-Cafe was like a gentle filter, sifting away the anxiety and inflation of the outside world, leaving behind only the beauty of the bubble.
Adjacent to S-Cafe, without any partition, it naturally transitioned into a more spacious, livelier public lounge area.
This was an extension of the S-Kitchen deli section.
Dozens of simply designed white round tables were arranged in an orderly yet relaxed fashion, accompanied by comfortable high-backed chairs. Though not as refined as S-Cafe, it won points for being spacious, bright, and completely free to use.
A young mother was sitting at a round table with her child, sharing a steaming plate of pork cutlet curry. On a nearby bench, several elderly gentlemen with graying hair were basking in the rare sunshine, holding cups of hot tea provided free by the supermarket, chatting leisurely.
Outside was a battlefield for snatching up vegetables, but here was a 24-degree Celsius haven from the storm.
S-Mart was redefining supermarket. It was no longer just a hurried place for transactions, but a community center where citizens suffocated by inflation could catch their breath.
Outside the lounge's floor-to-ceiling windows, right next to S-Mart's massive white main building, a small shop hung with a deep blue noren curtain stood quietly.
It was like a small patch of snow left behind in a city corner after last night's heavy snowfall — quiet, cool, yet eye-catching.
On its signboard were only three bold, powerful kanji characters: Hokokuya.
This long-planned, Saionji Family-owned fast-food brand had launched without any overwhelming pre-launch advertising or noisy opening flower baskets.
It had simply appeared there, quietly.
Yamada Kenichi dragged his heavy steps, walking over from a distant office building.
Though it was Sunday, he had just finished working overtime. As a low-level corporate drone struggling desperately in this bubble era, overtime pay was his lifeline for supporting his family.
It was already 1 PM, and his stomach had long been cramping with hunger. He had originally planned to just grab an onigiri from a convenience store, but the rich, savory aroma of soy-simmered meat carried by the wind was like an invisible hand, gripping his sense of smell tightly.
"That smells amazing..." he swallowed unconsciously, his feet uncontrollably moving towards that small shop with the blue cloth curtain.
He pushed open the wooden door.
"Welcome!"
The shop wasn't large, seating only about twenty people. The decor heavily featured natural wood tones, so clean it almost made him hesitate to step inside, afraid his dust-covered leather shoes would dirty the floor.
What shocked him most was the price tag on the automatic ticket machine by the entrance.
Signature · Hokkaido Beef Bowl — 450 Yen (Tax Included)
On this morning where even Yoshinoya had to adjust prices to odd amounts for the sake of a 3% tax, this price remained a supremely comfortable round number.
"450 yen? And tax included?" Yamada felt his pocket and pulled out a 500-yen coin.
Clink.
The change was a crisp 50-yen coin.
No heavy handful of aluminum coins that couldn't buy much.
Two minutes later.
When that steaming bowl of beef rice was placed before him, Yamada's eyes widened slightly.
The beef covering the rice wasn't the dry, imported frozen scraps, but showed an enticing pinkish-brown hue, with even the marbling faintly visible.
The first-generation hybrid cattle from S-Farm had entered the market. Though not as expensive as top-grade wagyu, the aroma of its fat was genuine.
Paired with it were Hokkaido sweet onions, stewed until crystal clear and meltingly tender.
The rice beneath was glossy and distinct, each grain separate. Frankly, it was even better than the rice he bought for home.
He picked up a mouthful with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth.
The fat burst on his tongue, the sweetness of the onions perfectly blending with the savory-salty sauce. The hot rice soothed his spasming stomach.
"Mmm..." Yamada couldn't help but let out a sigh of satisfaction, his eyes actually growing a bit warm.
On such a Sunday afternoon, when society was anxious over a few coins, in a Tokyo where even breathing felt expensive.
This bowl of rice topped with meat and onions cost only 450 yen.
It gave him a long-lost sense of fullness, and also an illusion called being respected.
This small shop named Hokokuya was like another hidden trap laid by the Saionji Family. Silently occupying people's stomachs, together with the adjacent S-Mart and S-Cafe, it formed a perfect, inescapable consumption loop.
Unnoticed, a long line began forming at the shop entrance.
2 PM.
Shibuya, street-side large screen.
Fuji TV's special program Consumption Tax Shock: The Second Day of Chaos was airing.
On screen were long lines outside Daiei Group supermarkets and Seibu Department Stores, and customers angrily protesting stockouts. A ticker ran at the bottom: Logistics Disrupted, Retail Outlets Nationwide Experience Shortages.
Then, the scene shifted.
The camera cut to Uniqlo and S-Mart stores.
Shelves were packed full, stacked to the ceiling. Crowds moved slowly through the aisles, carrying heavy baskets, faces showing a kind of relief after successful panic-buying. The sense of scarcity spreading elsewhere was completely absent here.
A reporter stood at the entrance of an S-Mart, microphone in hand.
"As you can see, viewers. While all of Tokyo worries about shortages, the shelves here remain full."
The reporter casually stopped a customer who had just walked out.
"Ma'am, what did you buy?"
The woman, carrying two heavy bags, wore a victor's smile.
"I bought rice! And meat! And lots of toilet paper!"
She held her bags up to the camera as if displaying trophies.
"This place is really good! Not only is everything in stock, but they really don't charge that tax! The totals at checkout are all round numbers, no annoying coins for change!"
"Those big stores just raise prices and make us queue. Only the Saionji Family is thinking of us ordinary people!"
"They are Tokyo's last bastion of conscience!"
The woman's voice spread across the entire Kanto Plain via the airwaves.
"Conscience."
In this era reeking of money, this word had the destructive power of a nuclear bomb.
Seibu's luxury, Daiei's low prices — all seemed pale and feeble before conscience.
At the same time.
Akasaka, ANA Hotel.
In Osawa Ichiro's private office, several TVs played the news simultaneously.
Osawa Ichiro sat on a sofa, holding a glass of ice water.
Before him lay two receipts.
One was from a recent purchase at a Daiei Group supermarket, printed with complex tax calculations, the total a fragmented 3,582 yen.
The other was from S-Mart, a clean 3,500 yen, with a small line printed at the bottom: Consumption Tax: 0 (Covered by Saionji Group).
"This is the ammunition," Osawa Ichiro picked up the two pieces of paper, a hunter's smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "Shuichi-kun, your family has given me a great gift this time."
He stood up, straightening the red tie that symbolized innovation.
"Prepare the car," he said to his secretary.
"Where to?"
"To the TV station. NHK's Sunday Debate."
Osawa carefully placed the two receipts into his jacket pocket, close to his chest.
"I'm going to ask those lofty big shots."
"Why can a private enterprise manage what our government cannot?"
"Why do they only know how to take money from the people's pockets, yet can't even solve how to let them buy a bag of rice?"
Evening, 6 PM.
Night fell.
S-Mart's massive white light boxes lit up in the darkness, like lighthouses illuminating the streets.
Inside the store's lounge area.
A young woman who had just gotten off work sat by the floor-to-ceiling window. Before her was a bowl of oden, and in her hands, a fashion magazine.
She looked tired, her high heels dangling half-off her toes, gently swaying.
But her expression was relaxed.
Here, she didn't need to pretend to be that polished urban office worker, didn't need to worry if the money in her wallet wasn't enough to pay.
She took a bite of the hot daikon radish.
Soft, flavorful, infused with the broth.
"This is really nice..." she murmured softly.
Behind her, outside the huge floor-to-ceiling window, a Daiei Group supermarket poster blown down by the wind lay in the muddy water, slowly soaking and rotting, its printed words Storewide Price Increase 3% fading.
In this chaotic April.
The Saionji Family didn't use swords, but conquered this city with a bowl of hot soup, a cheap T-shirt, and a quiet seat.
The white tsunami had already flooded the beaches of the old era.